Carmine Butterflies
by Shotgunsinlace
Summary: Unjustly locked behind the padded walls of St. John's Asylum, a certain blue-eyed American learns that the monsters under his bed aren't as far-fetched as the nurses paint them to be; his mysterious dark guardian included. Vampire!AU.
1. Chapter 1

_Carmine Butterflies_

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CHAPTER 1

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It was agreeable that St. John's was perhaps the most successful and well run boarding school in all of the United States of America. What with its impenetrable towers, strictly watched security, whitewashed walls and white-collar personnel. In fact, it could very well resemble some kind of tightly run prison for those who were a menace to society. Truth of the matter was, it wasn't that far off from being one.

To the world, St. John's was just that. A school for the rich and well polished, since that's where most of their kids were sent off to. However, those who did have 'students' within the guarded walls knew the unsettling truth; in perspective, sometimes they knew too much for the wards' liking. The word _prison_ was but an understatement.

Hollow echoes of heeled work shoes against linoleum floors bounced off the white walls but were drowned out by a sea of sounds much more disconcerting. Sounds that put a chill to the bones like some clichéd horror movie; predictable but causing a serious case of anxiety nonetheless. Rattling keys were agitated a bit more in order to fruitlessly flush out the enraged howls of the 'gifted children'. The questions that were asked night after night never lost the gut-wrenching feeling they brought along, no matter how repeated they were. Claims of innocence and injustice were declared signs of unbidden dementia, and some were, the great majority. But others, such as the 'student' in room number 07041776 were indeed unjustly locked up in that hellhole they called a school.

The ward unlocked the 'room' door and signaled the 'student' to follow. A routine checkup was in agenda for the lucky young man, sort of like a physical. If one would call a shot of vitamins and another of sedatives a checkup. But as the pleasant and pliant boy he was, he followed without question. Questions always went unanswered anyway, so it would have just been a waste of breath and saliva. _'Don't be ungrateful, count your blessings'_ were about the only answers they were ever graced with. He knew he didn't deserve to be there. It was all a repetitive nightmare that had no end and no beginning. Not a memory as to how he got there and without hope of ever getting out. At least it was a decent place. He had a bed, a jacket that kept the cold air-conditioning at bay, though he could do without having his arms strapped, three meals a day, an occasional visitor he _never_ saw and television on weekends _if_ the others behaved. Never mind if it was some boring educational programming, anything was better than looking at white padded walls twenty-four-o-seven.

He didn't listen to the moans and agonized sobs that reached him as he walked by the 'rooms'; looking straight at the inhabitants through the steel-barred 'doors' as they writhed and wept, begging for freedom and for someone to just listen to them without declaring them insane. When one has lived all their life in that place, it teaches you to ignore the decaying mental states of the students, the prisoners, _the patients_.

_Patients_. That's what they truly were. Some more than others, but patients all the same. They all got the same treatment; they all were declared mentally unstable. The majority lost their minds months _after_ they were locked up without reason or explanation; others were crazy to begin with. Every other month a new 'student' was brought in, and that was when the usual quiet was severely interrupted. They eventually learnt to calm down and accept their fate, but their subconscious, _their dreams_, dictated otherwise as they wailed hysterically in their sleep… It was always the screams for _'mommy'_ that got to him, because it always made him wonder without failing.

Did his mother choose to send him there? Was she cold and bothered by his presence? Was she caring and gentle; was he ripped away from her mercilessly and thrown into the cell that had now been his home for the past seventeen years? Or was it his father? Was it really their choice to lock him away from the world? Did he do something unwanted as a child? Was he an unwanted or accidental child? Was it him? Was it her? Was it him? Why? Why? _WHY?_

Questions, questions and more questions. Unanswered, ignored, irrelevant. No matter how much he begged, no matter how much he threatened. No matter how much he kicked and screamed and cried like a newborn child. Nothing. There was always nothing; _never_ nothing. No, not all the patients arrived insane, but they did a damn good job at breaking them.

He shouldn't think. He'll stop thinking the moment they give him the shot, it always worked at keeping his nightmares at bay; all except one. Bile began to form in his throat; skinny wrists trembled in the too large cuffs, making an eerie sound all too fitting for the atmosphere. The ward beckoned for him to hurry. A breakdown was the last thing he needed after a long and trying day with the rest of those loons. The man led the boy down a long, windowless corridor, a single door resting at the end. With every step they took, the door seemed father away like some kind of distorted nightmare. "You know the rules; I don't have to run you by them, do I?"

The boy shook his head. He knew them well. _Be quiet, take what is given, don't bite the nurses, do what you are told and don't ask questions._ All rules were always followed under one condition, that _his_ nurse was the one to tend to him. No one else. Blue eyes looked at the door, blindly read the sign above it with a grimace. _St. John's_ _Asylum_. Not _School_ or _Home_, but _Asylum_. It was an office accessed only by the personnel and the 'students', not the visitors, hence the name in display. He couldn't really _see_ the sign, since his glasses had been removed years ago after a small incident and his eyesight wasn't all that good. But that place never changed; it was still there, he was sure of it. Haunting and mocking its visitors.

A loud creaking made him stare blankly at the now open door, and there stood a woman, gently smiling up at him as she gestured him to enter.

His nurse was kind, or as kind as she was allowed to be when all staff members were to be emotionally distant. She had been the one to care for him since he had arrived at that place at a tender age; the woman had been thrilled and saddened. No infant had the right to be locked up in some mental institution. "Good evening, Alfred. How are you feeling today?" She wasn't expecting an answer and it never came. The young blonde, Alfred, hadn't spoken in Heavens knew how long. "You should really work on those social skills, darling. You'll forget how to speak if you keep this up." The woman tried her best to at least get some kind of reaction, but a zombie had more life in it than the boy. Shame really; the young man was extravagantly handsome. With eyes blue enough to rival the sky outside those infernal walls and hair as gold as the very sun, although faded with the lack of life.

It was when she leaned in to cup the boy's cheek that another nurse chastised her. "Elizaveta. Don't." The male nurse gave her a steady glance through his small spectacles before continuing with his duty of setting out the correct medication needed. His wife might have been a rough bitch with the world around her, but she was always a sucker for weak little children, even when they were children no more.

"Oh, hush you. Come along now, up on that scale you go." Elizaveta escorted Alfred through the usual; checking his height, weight, taking a few blood samples and as a reward, offering him a lollipop. It was a taboo to do so, but one little dose of sugar wouldn't kill him. Hooking up the young man to a machine in order to check his heart rate, she took the opportunity that her husband had wandered off into the next room to talk a bit more freely. "He came to pay you a visit again, that man." The monitor kicked up for a few seconds before resuming undisturbed again. "I offered him access to the main floor, but he refused again. He's a strange one, I tell you. Never wants to see you even when he sacredly comes year after year…"

Blue eyes followed her as he moved across the room. His elusive visitor that would always remain a mystery. Never left a name, snuck by security undetected, not even the security cameras caught a glimpse of him. Only Elizaveta and a small handful of other nurses had seen him, but they always refused to describe him. _There's no way to do so_, they said time after time. Curiosity was what kept Alfred from losing it, hoping that one day the man would come and whisk him out of that place no matter who he was.

The checkup went by fairly quickly, to his dismay. Padded walls and a cold bed were things he didn't want to be surrounded by at the moment. Having actual humans as company, no matter how 'professional' it was, was much better than disturbed solitude. The liquid that had just been pumped into his veins promised him a dreamless slumber for the next few days, which was about the only good thing he could get out of it. By the time he would shake the effect off, it would be the weekend. Hopefully no one would misbehave.

As the boy was being escorted back to his cell, numb and dragging his feet, an uneasy Elizaveta stood at the doorway, biting at her nails as she watched him. Her husband joined her eventually, looking worried at her reaction. "What is it?"

"Roderich… Is it normal for someone to have a good heart when all they have is legumes, cabbage and milk three times a day?"

The male nurse was taken aback by the question. Thinking for a moment as he adjusted his glasses over the bridge of his nose. Her question made no sense, really. "I suppose so. How come?"

"Look at this." The woman took out the printed results of the heart monitor and traced them with her delicate fingertips. "It's impossible for someone who does no physical activity whatsoever to have such a strong heart. He's in perfect health."

Roderich walked over to the files cabinet and rummaged through the records, taking out a beige manila folder and flipping through it. "His record's clean. He's never had any kind of condition; why would he having a strong heart make you uneasy?" Light-colored eyes stared at the woman for a moment, before returning to further study the file.

"I didn't say it made me uneasy… but it's unnatural."

"He's young; young people have stronger vitals than your average adult. It's perfectly normal, Elizaveta. Now, forget about that and let's get this place ready for our next patient." Roderich slipped the folder back into the file cabinet and locked it, safely placing the key back on the desk.

Later that night, Alfred lost all hope of watching any television on the weekend. Of all times, a newcomer was brought in kicking and screaming injustice. Judging by the foreign language, the new kid wasn't even American. So they were going global now, how wonderful. Education was a rarity, ironically enough for a place referred to as a school, but that didn't mean he was some stupid analphabet. He greedily ate whatever books he was rarely given and was pretty good in history and science. Math and languages was a dead zone though. He tried to make out anything of what the other was saying, but nothing struck him. Maybe it was Spanish…?

Time ticked by, and all hopes of sleeping were also vanished. It was to be expected really, but there was no worse a feeling than practically falling over from sleep, and not be able to. The drugs were pumping through him mercilessly; fogging his mind and making him see multicolored lights in front of his eyes. Sitting up on the bed, Alfred curled up with his knees to his chest and resorted to the only thing he _could_ do. _Pray_.

At least, what he _thought_ praying was. If complaining and repeating the same questions over and over again was the right way, then good. This time, however, not only did he ask the questions, but he also _politely_ asked for the answers to them. He also gave thanks for the lollipop Elizaveta had given him. Once he was done, he lay down and curled up into a fetal position to try and get some shut eye. Then he remembered. Sitting up again, he joined his hand in front of himself again, he had almost forgotten. _Please keep the stranger safe_… Unusual was an understatement; but it would be no good if something bad were to happen to the only person who came to visit him. What if he was the only family he had? The thought shook him to the core.

Through the sedatives, he could feel the anxiety rising. At times like those, he would normally reach for the only thing he had belonging to his forgotten past; a small, silver crucifix that hung from a thin chain. But even that was removed with time… Especially when he had tried, various times, to end his life with it. It wasn't a pleasant memory, since with that came the straightjacket. Not that it was entirely bad; it had its pros and cons, one of them being the inability to scratch an itch. That was torture in itself. _The consequences of your actions_, they had told him. He had only frowned and sat still as they strapped him in.

"P-Please… let someone come… anyone…" Even his voice sounded foreign to himself. Too long had he been a good boy, being subjected to inhumane isolation from the world outside, he deserved some kind of enlightenment. Any kind.

Eventually the drugs took him under, but the slumber was far from being dreamless. Sceneries and sounds were familiar yet foreign to him, to the point where he couldn't discern what was a memory, a dream or a simple fantasy he had created for the sake of entertainment. The latter was discarded, in his disturbed but logical mind. No one could conjure up a world to the point where so many details were lucid yet elusive. It was too detailed of a setting, too precise. Where every orphan dreamt of a family of their own, of returning to their parents' arms and leading a happy life full of candy, balloons and warm beds, his subconscious showed him that_ mockery _of a dream.

It wasn't him who ran down the cold stone corridors of some ancient fortress, lungs screaming for air to the point of hurting, but he saw himself there nonetheless. Granted a full view of the macabre spectacle about to begin. Torches cast shadows around the enclosed area, hiding creatures that escaped the imagination, lurking, closing in to strike at the precise moment. Fear did not exist in that realm, just an emotion so severe that it bewildered his human psyche; disabled him to move or fight, but he still moved on into the darkness.

Some kind of sound stood above all else. Impossible to hear to human ears, but it was still there. It rang within his head, altering emotions and beckoning him to lower his defenses, something he refused to do. It reached deep, too deep in him no matter how hard he tried to fight it, but it was _necessary_. A new world would be revealed to him if he accepted the silent invitation but there was no choice to make; the decision was made, and he would be _forced_ to listen to that keen message being whispered inside his head. _Frightening, alluring…_

_Light_; swinging light. Slashing light that cut the darkness like a knife, a blade… _a sword_. Precise and measured movements caught and reflected small rays of light from an unknown source. Two lights now, but it was no longer that mellow feeling that continuously accompanied him through the dark. Danger was near; he was no longer safe; the dancing lights were the reflections of blades locked in a fight. He needed to run to safety, run to the stranger that was always but never there, waiting in the shadows. Alfred turned on his heels and ran, and this time, it _was_ him running, feeling the chilling horror seeping into his bones.

Even with the absence of his glasses, he could see the changing walls around him, how they shifted and morphed into something else completely. There was no floor beneath him now, no ceiling, just the walls now impossible to see due to the multitude of people standing before them. People; people he couldn't discern. Faces protected by masks, some deformed and others completely featureless. _But they were all looking at him; waiting, expecting, hateful_.

He skidded to a stop when someone called out to him; a voice, two voices. He searched from where he stood, craning his neck in order to look over the multitude to no avail. He needed to get out, an escape, some sort of shelter from… _from… the cold hands that were now resting on his tense shoulders_. Long fingers squeezed and kneaded before slipping down the slender arms, pressing palm against palm, twinning fingers with obvious malicious intent. It disabled him to move. Cold, forced breath splayed across his suddenly exposed neck as a hand came to grab his chin, jerking his head to side in order to face the person, _the thing_, behind him. But blue eyes squeezed shut, tightly, before getting a glimpse.

"D-Deliver us… f-f-from evil!" Alfred tried to gasp out, but his voice had been robbed. Defenseless, hopeless and unable to call out for help. The dream, like so many times before, had turned into a nightmare; one he couldn't escape from. But then, hope dawned on him… Refreshing, forgiving, and willing to protect.

The stranger stood before him, both arms at his sides, one grasping a wicked sword, the other dripping with… with… _blood_. His protector; the only living… living… _what?_ _He wasn't among the living to begin with…_ No footsteps rang out as he approached with furious intent, as if he were merely hovering above the damp stones beneath his shoes.

Alfred would never see his face; never had the chance to for he was always ripped away from the scene at the nick of time. Only the eyes of his stranger remained with him until long after he woke… _Eyes the color of…_

Something cold smacked mercilessly onto his face, pulling him out completely with a startled cry. Gentle hands shook his shoulders hurriedly; his legs thrashing about violently as if on their own volition. He stopped instantly though, dumbfounded with himself when he noticed that he was no longer in his dream. Elizaveta was holding on to him, trying to keep him pinned to the bed as he whimpered and trembled, wide-eyed, as if he had seen the devil itself. As he stilled, Alfred gazed into the green eyes that looked so worriedly into his. Eyes so green… _Green like his savior's_… but never, nowhere near, as his. The stranger's eyes were a shade of green so deep that it set nature to shame. Yes, they were much, much deeper…

_And much more powerful._

"… Answer me! What happened? Is everything alright? Do you feel sick?" It was then that Alfred registered his nurse speaking to him. Without a word, she yanked him to his feet and dragged him out of his cell and back towards the office where Roderich stared at her as if she'd gone mad.

"What are you doing? You know you can't—"

"I couldn't just leave him screaming like that!"

"You're going to end up getting us both fired, you madwoman! I ought to lock you up along with them!"

"Oh be quiet. I'll take him back as soon as I get him fixed up. Looks deep enough for stitches."

"I'll go fetch the jacket." Elizaveta turned a deadly glare to the brunette by her side, daring him to move a muscle. "If we don't strap him in, Heaven knows what else he'll do to himself. It's for his own good, darling."

The woman's frown deepened as she nodded. She escorted the young man to a large sofa, setting him down and fetching for some cotton and alcohol. Alfred winced when the cold substance slid across his cheek, burning wickedly, and it was then that he noticed the cut there. Must have scratched himself during the euphoria… Maybe the jacket wasn't such a bad idea. Better to be unable to scratch an itch than end up clawing his eyes out. "Huh, I guess stitches won't be needed after all." With the outmost care, she applied a small Band-Aid. "That must have been some nightmare."

Alfred graced her with a small nod, making her eyes go wide. That was perhaps the most emotion she had gotten out of him since he was a child. Curling his arms around himself, the blonde sighed, trembling softly as he gazed absently at the peach walls of the office.

"Promise not to tell a soul." Fine eyebrows knitted at that; she had his undying attention. "I'll get you some warm milk to help you sleep better; but you have to promise not to tell." Another nod, this one a bit more pronounced as he eased from his protective ball. "Excellent then. Wait here for a moment, I'll be right back." Looking both ways for any signs of Roderich, she slipped into their private little break-room when she didn't catch the slightest glimpse.

Blue eyes drifted shut for half a moment, sleep coming back with a vengeance, but he fought it back with all his might. Instead, he turned his attention to the small television set on top of the table. A smile made its way to his lips almost instantly, but it vanished just as quickly as it came. The change in music was pleasant, that was for sure, but his eyes and mind did not agree with that. Not only was the current song… well, frightening, but the man singing it was…

_Him_.

The man strode across the stage with slow, sensuous steps; a long, black trench coat fluttering every time he swayed his hips. He was menacing, imposing, intimidating… _beautiful_. _Inhumanly beautiful._ Then again, what did _he_ know about beauty when all he saw were the same faces day after day. Alfred continued to watch, enraptured, as the performer propped a foot against a speaker, leaning over and taking the microphone stand with him, screaming into it. It was aggressive and dark, the song, but it was interesting. Of course, everything was always interesting when it was a first time, and this _was_ the first concert he had ever seen.

Physically, he wasn't so sure. But it was the moment the cameras zoomed into the deathly pale face again that it hit him yet again, ripping his attention away from the screen. Those eyes… were the same eyes. It was him; the stranger, the man from his nightmare…! Terrified didn't even begin to describe how he felt right there and then.

Both Roderich and Elizaveta ran into the room when the boy began to scream near the point of hysteria. Impossible it was, trying to restrain him. He thrashed and wailed, gashed his nails against any surface he could find. His mind was torn between running away from the threatening aura the artist strutted and asking, prodding, _desiring_ the pull the television close in order to look more closely. He opted for the latter when he dove forward, wanting to touch the screen; as if somehow he'd be able to touch the blonde man on some distant stage.

The nurses struggled to keep him still and quite, but they were failing miserably. Shouts and groans came from the cells, signaling that the other patients were getting restless as well. The situation was getting a bit out of control. Roderich attempted to wrestle the boy into the jacket while Elizaveta tried to hold him down, but he was too damn strong. To the point where it was shocking. At the end of his line, the male nurse did the only thing he could do. Reaching for the sedatives on the table, he drove it right into the vein on Alfred's neck, knocking him out almost instantly.

The following seconds seemed endless. As they gazed at the unconscious boy on the floor, Roderich immediately set to work in setting him into his straightjacket. "I told you. I told you! Now pray to God he doesn't OD!" Ire set into his amethyst eyes as he stormed out of the office, shouting at the other patients uncaringly.

Elizaveta was left behind to cry and shiver at the overwhelming emotions that began to settle in. For a moment there, she had been deathly frightened; had feared for her and her husband's life even. The boy was too strong for someone who ate little to nothing on a daily basis. Meat wasn't even on the menu, in fact; and the sedatives would have at least done something to knock him a notch down. But they didn't. The institution had done its job well, had cracked the boy beyond repair and if truth be told, something in her died that day.

Taking a subconscious step back, she broke down.

Calming Roderich down would be a hassle, the patients even a bigger one. Thankfully, she allowed her knees to give out once she was on the couch. No, it hadn't been the first time a situation had gotten out of control in her very hands, but there was this lingering feeling of hurt that came with this one as she stared down at an unconscious Alfred.

Turning to glare at the television, she wondered what had riled the boy up, and what she saw made perfect sense.

No; no it _didn't_ make sense. At all. Yes, that was the man that paid a yearly visit to the boy; she was very well aware of whom he was and what he did for a living. One of St. John's biggest investors too, so practically everyone knew him. Apart from the legions of followers he had and all. Now, the part that didn't make sense, was the point that _never_ had _Alfred_ laid eyes on him. Never heard his music, his voice; never seen his face. She should know; she had been Alfred's unofficial guardian since the moment he was brought to those cursed walls. No one ever went in to see him; never did he get any letters, _nothing_. It was disconcerting in the least.

Decision made, she'd question the visitor a bit the next time he paid a visit. And she wouldn't allow him to leave until all suspicious had been cleared. She wanted answers and answers she'll get even if it killed her. That boy, originally, did not deserve to be there. He had suffered unjustly for reasons unknown to everyone in the staff, even the higher ups. That man had to know at least some part of the truth. Elizaveta would take the case in her own hands and she wasn't about to rest until she knew the truth and nothing but.

Might as well start out with the obvious. Locking the door to the main hall, she made her way as silently as possible to the file cabinet Roderich had rummaged through before. Fishing for the key on the desk, she slid it in place with trembling hands. Her heart beat loudly in her eyes as she hoped she wouldn't get caught and kicked out; God pray they wouldn't catch her. Finely plucked eyebrows raised in confusion for a moment. File after file she searched, and none of them had Alfred's name on it. She knew the majority of the patients there by name, so she discarded looking through those. Instead she opted to skim across those she didn't know, but none of them were a match. At the back, however, she found an unmarked file.

Bingo.

It wasn't helpful in the least. No date of birth, just the year, should be twenty that same one. No blood type, no city of precedence, no family, no clinical files besides the fact that he was allergic to aspirin… absolutely nothing. Just a name and no surname. Just _Alfred_. It was impossible. No institute would ever take someone in without a background, and that could only mean one thing. Someone high up _did_ know what was going on, and by the cross hanging around her neck, she swore she'd get to the bottom of it.

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AN: _I swore to myself that I would /NOT/ post two fics at once... and yet, here I go. Have a vampire AU; because I have a thing for them. :'D R&R is always welcome. ~_


	2. Chapter 2

_Carmine Butterflies_

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CHAPTER 2

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"_Who the hell are you, man?"_

_The question provoked an irresistible urge. "I am the vampire Lestat." It just rolled out of my mouth. With one simple sentence I had betrayed everything about my kind; betrayed our code of secrecy._

"Watching that old thing again? If vampire movies are your thing, then may I suggest a more modern one?"

"Thank you, but no thank you, Gilbert. I happen to be quite fond of this film; the little glimpses of London are soothing. And the actor is a fine bloke."

"Who _doesn't_ want to get in his pants?"

"I meant, acting wise. The music's also charming; might buy the rights." The man sitting before the television looked up at Gilbert, flashing a dark little smile.

"Which one?"

"All of them."

"Honestly? Half those songs are total shit, man. You'll just be wasting precious money. Take the opening song for example. Complete and total trash."

"On the contrary. I find it rather fitting. Besides, with a better voice, they're sure to be a hit."

"Fine. You're the idol here, do whatever the hell you want."

"Some manager you are."

"I gave you my opinion and you disapproved. End of story. I know better than to argue with you. You never fucking listen."

"Took you long enough to get those facts through your thick head."

"Whatever. Want a cigarette?"

"And harm my lungs? Never."

"_Aha…Vampire…? That's funny."_

"_Indeed… Hilarious."_

"Yeah, what Lestat said." The manager said while rolling his eyes. "Don't pretend like you didn't totally manipulate the movie right now."

"Pretend I didn't? Ha, it's one of my many gifts. No shame in some self expression." The man rose from his seat and sauntered over to the manager, snatching the cigarette pinched between his lips and taking a deep drag himself. "It's almost dawn."

Gilbert glared then, taking the smoke back and waving the other off. "Yeah, yeah, I'll get to bed in a minute. You go ahead, Lestat—I mean, _Arthur_." A smug little smirk set in on the manager's features.

The man, Arthur, simply smiled in return while taking a good hold of the other's chin. "You insult me? He's nothing compared to me, you bleedin' fool. For you see… I am the real thing. Not some scrawny little human pretending to be one."

"You aren't the only _real thing _out there, so stop bragging."

Arthur steadily looked at the man before him before grabbing his shoulders and turning him around. Hanging on the wall was a body length mirror, un-streaked and with not a ball of lint on it. Proof of the neat-freak he was. Leaning in, he whispered into his ear. "Now, look at your reflection and tell me what you see."

That he did. Gilbert admired the masterpiece he was, all modesty aside. Silver-white hair that rested like an uncombed mess atop of his head, framing gorgeous angular features paler than summer clouds. Two large eyes the color of blood, with only their depth and gleam as proof of their authenticity. Tall, slender and drop-dead gorgeous; that's what he saw. But what he didn't see was the man leaning flush against his back. "Is that some kind of glitch?"

"Our reflections are what set us apart, Beilschmidt. Apart from the fact that you still have your surname. Like society itself, our species changes, adapts to our current surroundings. Theory of evolution. Mirrors were such a petty thing back then, we didn't need reflections. But you, you are a whole new generation where cosmetic beauty is everything. You blend in with humans flawlessly." Arthur released him and made his way to his room without another word.

"You know, in case you're wondering, you're not that bad looking yourself."

"You think I've no idea what I look like? Boy, I see myself more than I'd like to. Everywhere I go there's this poster of me, promoting an album, a concert, whatever else. I'm every woman's fantasy and every man's wet dream. I have no need of you to comfort me." And damn was he right. Not a day went by that Gilbert didn't want to splay his fingers across the man's chest, or run his hands through that silky blonde hair. Admitting it? Never.

"You're so full of yourself; you ain't _that_ hot."

"Bullocks. That's not what you think."

"Bullshit. I _know_ you can't read minds."

"No, but I can read your blood. How you're so eager for me to bite down… a little harder each time. How you practically beg for me to lick a little more wherever I'll bite. How you love whenever I grip onto you when I'm riding out the high that comes with feeding. Truth be told, all I have to do is lick my lips and you're already horny mess." Green eyes narrowed triumphantly at the gawking male. "Point proven. Night." Slapping his shoulder in what seemed to be a friendly gesture; Arthur finally retired to his room.

"Bastard."

Pulling off his turtleneck sweater, Arthur hung it neatly in his closet, alongside his favorite coat. The curtains were pulled tightly closed, keeping the room in darkness until long after the sun had risen above the sky. As unnecessary as it was, due to his keen eyesight, candles were lit up scarcely across the cool bedroom; just for the sake of decoration. Not too fond of modern day technology and styles, Arthur preferred to keep it old school. Eighteenth century old school. His room was the closest thing he had that resembled his old home back in England during his glorious days, and that was more than enough.

The country itself had too many haunting memories; some gentle and heartwarming, others too cruel and unthinkable even for an immortal. Truth be told, he would have given his all to return to England. To once again breathe in the crisp air of his valleys and enjoy the English summer rain he loved so much. But the past was past and he had to keep up with whatever was thrown at him. Besides, no news of their little underground world had reached him, and it only served to put him on edge. For years, sacredly, a messenger would stop by and inform him of business; but for the second year in a row, no news came. He wouldn't risk it; so instead he opted on staying on American soil, looking after his charge.

Unlatching the silver notches on his coffin, the blonde slipped in, though not quite ready to sleep yet. Instead, he reached for his headphones. He was in need of inspiration. A shame it was, being an immortal, despite what novels and movies said, there was really nothing interesting about being one. Time ticked by nonstop; hours seeming like years and never growing old. Pleasant, at first, thinking about how the world would change next, what the future had in store and being able to witness it first hand and all that other nonsense. But that took centuries on end. On the mean time, it was an ordinary life. With the occasional _kill in order to eat_ ordeal. Yes, he could stand sunlight, though he burned fairly easily, turning his pale skin as red as a lobsters', no fun in that. No, he couldn't fly, no fun in that either. Faster and stronger than any human being on that planet, well, that was a plus; but after three-hundred years, it tended to get boring. And no, he didn't sparkle in the sunlight; another _boo_ there.

Noise from the kitchen made him twitch as it momentarily caught his attention; apparently Gilbert was attempting to cook again. Poor kid didn't get through his head that no matter how much food he eats, his hunger would not be sated any other way. New generation; they had morals they stuck to. Go figure. Morals and faith were none existent in the vocabulary of someone who's lived so long. Either one loses all hope in being sent to a better afterlife, or one just seizes to care, like him. Gilbert was still aiming for the salvation of his soul, though in all honesty, the kid was never a saint as a human to begin with. It amused him though, the way he'd grip his cross subconsciously, or the way he always kept a bible near his bed, since he also refused a coffin. _Tch, teenagers_.

Sleep was slowly starting to get to him, overwhelmingly too. He usually slept only because he had no other choice, but at that moment, he felt like he could wander off into blissful oblivion forever. Or perhaps for some one hundred years or so. Alas, he could not, for he had duties to tend to, unfortunately. Be it known that he did not apply for the job of babysitting some brat, but his immortal heart, if he even _had_ one, held him true to the promise. That child was the only living remnant of one of the most important persons in his long life, and those had been few.

_Arthur stood there, by her deathbed, silent and resigned. Even an immortal was subjected to never getting what he most wanted in an eternity. Human life was always so fragile… as fleeting as a butterfly's wings. A mere breath compared to his never-ending days; and it killed him. That constant feeling of slowly dying on the inside without actually being able to was perhaps the biggest punishment hell could ever set upon anyone. That last bit of life was slowly draining away from those ever bright sapphire eyes, but she held fast to the small bundle in her arms; the gift of a rendezvous gone awry. But Heavens did she love that boy… love him enough to send him away when the lands of Britain were no longer excluded from a bloody underground war, fought not by countries, but something much more evil. Her husband never would have been able to care for the child after her passing, and so she had relied on him to care for it. A damned soul who lived the life of warrior, and suffered a love unrequited…_

Eyes the color of emeralds snapped open, willing himself away from that horrible memory. Long ago he swore not to wallow in grief, it being useless and unproductive. But his mind never allowed him peaceful rest. Those were demons he had to face on a daily basis, no matter what his current career was, where the road took him or how many times he tried to ride of them. For the past decade, those nightmares grew in intensity, ever since the School informed him of the child's total collapse. It wasn't that he was cold and cruel, leaving a poor, defenseless human baby in care of some mental hospital. Alright, maybe he was, but he eased his conscience by reminding himself that it was for the child's own good.

Arthur was done living in the shadows. Done living the life of a forgotten aristocrat from long ago. Old habits die hard; and when alive, attention, adoration and worship were things that led him on. The world had been at his feet once and now he had the opportunity to live amongst those that basked in sunlight yet again. Stalking in the shadows was a shameful way of surviving; waiting for the opportune moment to strike in order to eat, simply disgraceful. Instead, he finally chose to live his life in the open. Not necessarily revealing what he was, but who he was. And like three centuries ago, he was once again atop of world. Successful, famous, wealthy, adored by all and acknowledged worldwide. That was the life he craved for and now he had it. He wasn't about to let some child ruin it for him.

A contradictory thing, his mind was. Torn between self-importance and respect to the person he loved. So he conceived a smart way to enjoy the best of both worlds. Keeping the child safe, away from leering eyes and thirsting lips; and worshipped by humankind as an idol. It couldn't be any better than that. Another downer of being immortal, too much time to think. Serious hassle most of the times. But for times like those, he had the perfect antidote; a small hobby that was far from being manly, but perhaps the most relaxing thing he had ever done before. _Butterfly catching._

A little something his mother had taught him to do when he was but a lad living in the English countryside, before he become a Viscount. His father had attempted to teach him to hunt dangerous creatures instead, admonishing him for frolicking around like some maiden. Arthur had stood his ground, assuring him that his tastes in 'hunting' were not what made him a man. A year later, bear hunting had cost his father his life.

Till this day in age, the vampire kept his collection mounted in his own personal gallery; a room fitted specifically for his winged prizes. _Tiger__swallowtail, spicebush swallowtail, greater fritillary, giant sulphur, black swallowtail, redspotted__purple, painted lady__…_ So many species from so many different places around the tiny little world they shared. Only a handful rested in his personal bedroom, and those were only his absolute favorites. The ones he'd never tire to look at pinned beautifully inside a transparent glass box. Untouched by everyone but him, protected, safely tucked away from the ever shifting, inconstant world.

Call it a hunch, but Arthur felt something was terribly wrong; or unwelcome, would be a more suitable definition for the feeling. Dawn was just beginning to break across the horizon when something fluttered across his peripheral vision. Cold hands gripped the satin interior of the coffin, pushing him into a sitting position in order to get a better view of what it was. Tiny wings danced around the darkness of the room, casting shadows with aid of the melting candles. Too dark to be a butterfly; too large to be a moth. Whatever it was, it did not belong in his collection, much less his living quarters.

His current getaway was meant to be just that, a place to get away from his rampant fans for a little while. The mansion was planted in the middle of nowhere in the Nevada Dessert, where there shouldn't be a flower besides his own in sight. It wasn't their season either.

Arthur slid onto the floor and quickly fetched for his duster, sliding it on with ease over his bare chest. Not bothering to put on some shoes, he patted barefoot across the wooden floor to stand beside his door. He waited. Not a single sound reached his ears, and that was unsettling to something with such acute hearing. Gilbert wasn't causing a racket; the television wasn't on, not even the hum of the refrigerator a few rooms down. Something, or someone, was muffling his senses, and no human he had ever meant was able to do that. Whoever was there was up to no good. Before taking action, he sauntered over to his coffin again and searched the lid. He removed a lapel of satin, feeling his way until his hand reached what he was looking for. A double handed sword. Not the most modern weapon to date, but it was made of pure silver. That, with a bit of intimidation, was more than enough.

Not bothering to wait for any kind of sign of life, the blonde opened the door casually and walked out. It smacked into him then, the raw power that was tweaking his senses. How annoying. Walking down the glass stairs, he found himself in the lounge, where two other people sat comfortably, murmuring in low voices as they fiddled with their drinks ever so casually. He knew none of them.

One of the intruders, a woman, with pale blonde hair that draped well past her waist and eyes a strange hue lost between metallic and blue, rose to her feet. She was exceptionally tall, much taller than Arthur, and her face betrayed nothing but cold calculation. There was a small knife gripped in her right hand. So much for discreetness. The other one, a man with hair a similar tone but much shorter and lilac eyes, remained seated, smiling pleasantly as if he had done the most normal thing in the world. Neither of them looked American.

"I hope you are aware of the fact that you are both trespassing on private property." Arthur tried a direct approach. Between the knife in the woman's hand and the lethal look in the man's eyes, he knew they weren't there to play games or beat around the bush.

"We were sent to deliver a message and then we'll be on our way. No harm done, unless you decide to use that thing." The man was the one that spoke first; his voice deep and accented, but sweet. Like poisoned honey. "I am Ivan. And this is Natalia. We are pleased to meet you, Arthur; we are avid followers of your… music."

"I would say likewise, but doing so would prove a lie. I do not like to lie to my fans; or allies, on a first encounter." He chose the word carefully, searching to see where their loyalties lie. "It is not my intention to be rude, but the sun already bathes the sky in tones of roses; I need my rest."

"Very poetic of you; I expected no less. I appreciate your honesty, comrade. But we are no allies of yours." It was the woman's turn to speak, and her voice set a chill to Arthur's bones. She was not pleased to be there; not in the slightest.

"Well then, state your business. This said message you bring. I'd offer a drink, but all my servants have gone at this hour." Arthur strode around the room with tense shoulders, but he looked calm and collected. The lounge had roof-to-floor glass windows at 360degrees, giving them a beautiful view of the warming, dry planes outside. It was Arthur's fortress, and it unnerved him, wondering just how they managed to pass through the threshold uninvited. Unless someone had already invited them in once before.

"Fret not about your hospitality; we've already enjoyed it to its fullest." The man leered and laughed, making the blonde turn to him quizzically before it finally hit him.

"Where's Gilbert?"

"Alive. At least, alive as he can be." Natalia said as she moved without moving, a neat trick, Arthur thought, but it was all parlor tricks. They were just pitiful little servants compared to his level of expertise.

Another woman came from the direction of the main parlor with Gilbert in tow; and what Arthur saw, irked him beyond words. No, it wasn't that the woman who had just walked in had blood trickling down the corner of her lip. It's wasn't her at all. In fact, she was quite appealing to Arthur's _other_ hunger; he might have been a vampire, but he was also a man. He considered women with short hair to be quite dashing, but it was her breasts that made him nearly salivate. Being a rock star, he was used to having cleavage shoved in his face by overenthusiastic fans; but the sheer size of those… It would have been terrific to bite down and get a drink from those.

Coming back to reality however, he noticed Gilbert with his hands tied at his lower back. His shirt had blood stains in various places, the collar, the bend of the elbow, the left pectoral area… Fine features were bruised, his lip bleeding, but worst of all was the burn that was still sizzling at mid chest. They had hung a crucifix around his neck. If it had been just the pendant, it wouldn't have had such an effect, which meant it had to have been dipped in holy water…

The growl that ripped out of Arthur's throat made them all step back and hiss in return; all but Gilbert whose hair stood on end, but nothing else. Green eyes darkened to near black as he stormed over to Ivan, maneuvering his blade to rest against the man's neck with such speed that left them all reeling. "You break into my home; betray my hospitality by abusing my friend… Give me one reason why I shouldn't destroy you this very instant?"

"Because doing so would be an open invitation to war." Ivan seemed unfazed in the face of death. Either he was breathtakingly brave, or utterly stupid. The latter being the most acceptable. He caught the hesitation in Arthur's eyes and continued his explanation. "_Belle Morte_ has invited you to dance. He says it has been too much of a long time and that he is quite anxious to see you. The _both_ of you."

That was all it took to make the earth shift beneath Arthur's feet. So he had been right. That was the reason why no messenger came bearing news from the homelands. That _monster_ had learnt of his whereabouts in America and only God knew what he was doing to prevent them from reaching him. He was no longer safe; and judging by the _'both'_ in the man's words… neither was _he_. Arthur knew he was not speaking of Gilbert, without a doubt. Death and torment had finally come knocking on his door.

"You seem shaken. Not a very intimidating gesture." Natalia said as she glided over, with the grace only a vampire could master, to caress the still unnamed woman's hair. Her free hand wrapped around the chain around Gilbert's neck and pulled, mindful of the gleaming cross. Breaking it away, she tossed it on the ground. The man whimpered in relief. "You're so pathetic."

"You may inform your master that I have no business with him. If he wishes to see me, than he can pay me a visit. I am too busy a man to frolic over to Europe to just be bedded by him. My tastes are considerably better, mind you." Arthur bit out tersely, sliding the sword away close enough to Ivan's neck that made blood bubble to the surface. Once done, he swiped his fingers across the cut and licked them clean. The man didn't even flinch.

"No need to worry then; for he is already here."

Arthur would never learn who spoke the words; most definitely no one there. Just as soon as they were spoken, all three beings vanished like they had only been a bad illusion. Perhaps they were. The display of power was impressive, but certainly not their own. That bastard of a Master was behind it, he was sure of it, and that last warning made him want to kill something in order to release the sudden tenseness and frustration.

Gilbert suddenly collapsed on the white couch without warning, sound asleep. The sun had already ridden up into the sky, chasing away all of the haunting shadows of just minutes ago. Sleep was pulling his own strings again, but Arthur was sure he wouldn't be able to rest until he secured what was his. What he needed to protect. That beast was there to settle their twenty year old debt, and others much older than that. None of them were safe now.

Silly, how they didn't hunt him down for strutting out in the open. Not a single warning had been made; all was well. He had been leading a normal life, as normal as it could get, and now it had all but vanished. The methodical rug had finally been pulled out from under his feet, and he would pay dearly for it. Arthur would much rather face death than what was to come. And blood would not only be spilt in his realm, but he fretted for those around him. _Belle Morte_ took no prisoners, not when he was offended, and his methods of revenge were nothing short of torturous. All the man could do was pray he had enough time to set things right, and fetch his charge before that French son of a bitch reached him first.

The record label was going to kill him once he canceled out that night's appointment. But even that death was more than welcome.

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_**A/N:**__ Well, I hope this chapter doesn't exactly disappoint, although the ending does seem rather rushed. There are some things in the initial plot that might seem both off and rather… not right… but I can assure you things will be cleared in coming chapters. Also, I'm sitting here, posting this chapter, while I wait for wonderful Hurricane Earl comes to and whack us senseless. XD So updates may be a bit delayed on all my stories, depending on how bad the outcome of the storm is. _


	3. Chapter 3

_Carmine Butterflies_

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CHAPTER 3

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It was like a buffet of feelings were being served to him; each one as delicious and exotic as the next. His senses had been wreaked havoc upon, slowly and gradually driving him undone. That dream was far from normal, and once awake and completely aware; he knew he'd be ashamed of himself. One just doesn't dream of being undressed by unknown hands, kissed by unknown lips and consumed by unknown lust. It was sinful and frowned upon. He had to stop it right that moment… but his body didn't want to. His mind refused to give up the hazy fantasy that danced mockingly behind his eyelids.

_Unfamiliar hands slid up his shirt; fingers splayed and touching every single inch of warm skin underneath. A pert little nipple was toyed with, pinched and pulled on. Heat trailed up from the hem of his pants, as a tongue moved in order to tickle his navel playfully like a line of fire. A pair of soft, cool lips pressed against his in a soft kiss, one as soft as silk, before pressing more strongly. The chaste kiss became hungry and desperate, almost rough and wanting. It left him breathless and craving for more…_

Alfred woke up with a choked gasp; lips chapped and mouth dry. It had been too much again. What had started out as innocent and longing dreams that searched for warmth and acceptance, had turned into crude and primal needs which he knew nothing about. Hormones; easy explanation. But there was nothing within those hateful walls to trigger them. Oh, he knew what was going on with his body. At least the 'school' had taken the time to explain in class. That didn't make the experience less embarrassing though. Alfred was forced to wake up with an erection, trying desperately to hide it as he rolled on to his side, giving his back towards the door.

They weren't frequent, but every time they decided to manifest, it was overwhelming. It was always the same scenario: dark sheets bathed in candlelight, the smell of spice, musk and tea clinging heavily to them and that unknown figure inflicting blissful torture on his virgin body. So sinful in oh so many ways. What made it worse, was that he was one hundred percent sure that it wasn't a pretty woman doing such lewd things to him. Pretty, yes, but not a woman. Those hands were cool and smooth, but strong and knowing. The presence wasn't gentle; elegant and graceful, that's what they were, but rough and nearly animalistic. It excited him.

No use suppressing a shudder as he rocked himself gently, fighting back the urge to weep. The frustration was intense. Only once had he reached release, and it was during sleep. The coming morning had been hell. No television for a month; good boys didn't think about such dirty stuff. He felt dirty. Alfred pressed his palms against the tent in his crotch and tried his best to will it down. He almost cried as he tried to think about other things, but minutes later, he was cured. Not a single trace was left behind, but the perspiration and agitated breath.

The small window on Alfred's door slid open and his nurse peeked through it with a warm smile. He only shifted his head to let her know she had his attention, not trusting himself to expose his lap just yet. "Good evening, Alfred. Had a good rest?" The boy nodded, trying his best to seem overall grateful. She sounded pleased though, almost bright, and it made him curious. "There's someone here to see you today. And I mean actually see you. Isn't that wonderful?"

Alfred felt his world shift underneath him. Fear was an overwhelming feeling, and even though he had experienced it before, that moment just took the cake. He had learnt how to feel safe within those walls, seeing the same faces day after day. And now, knowing that he had to face an outsider, infected with the wicked ways of the world… it made him want to whimper. They couldn't do this. Curiosity over who the mysterious visitor was was one thing; it was another thing entirely meeting him face to face. Security outweighed curiosity by a long run.

Maybe they had finally come to take him away from that place? It was conflicting thought to say the least. He should have felt excited if so, but the aforementioned thoughts clashed with that logic. What if they couldn't afford to keep him and abandoned him in the streets to fend for himself? What if getting him out wasn't the reason they were there at all? Why _he_ was there? It hadn't been a year since the last visit, not even close, and that's what made him uneasy. More than he already was. Something was wrong; he could feel it in his bones. Alfred's mind continued to run at light speed, if not faster.

"I know it's a bit unexpected, but we're running a bit of a background check. Just thought I'd let you know in advanced so you can get ready, alright?" Elizaveta threw another happy grin before closing the compartment again, not bothering to wait for an answer she already knew was not coming.

_Get ready…_ That was something Alfred never learned how to do. Why practice something one would never do? The only thing he had ever had to get ready for was Sunday service, and not even that. He didn't have appointments or nice clothes to tend to, so it was pretty much useless. But Heaven's did he wish he had paid better attention to his etiquette lessons.

Roderich pinched the bridge of his nose, a tick he had whenever he got past the point of annoyed. He was well beyond that. Adjusting his glasses back into place, the Austrian ran through the same file for the umpteenth time that evening and found nothing different about it. Why the man continuously requested for him to search it again and again escaped him. His name was not in the file of visitors, and no matter how many times he searched, that fact would not change as if by magic. The visitor insisted.

"My apologies, sir, but I cannot just let you wander in without a permit. I can assign a meeting with the Headmaster and have him–"

"Non, non, that would not do. It will take forever, and even if I have the time, I have better ways of spending it."

"Then we're very sorry, Mister Bon—Bonf—"

"_Bonnefoy_. Are you sure, though? That I cannot even catch a small glimpse of my nephew after so very long?" The visitor pleaded with a soft slur of an exotic accent, turning up the heat in his azure eyes as he did so. Roderich frowned.

"Nephew? I know for a fact that Student 07041776 is not French. He couldn't be more American even if he tried." Elizaveta walked into the small but well furnished office, all dressed in white. It was a good thing she had decided to dress a bit nicely on that day, but she was having second thoughts about that. Especially with the way the Frenchman ogled her long legs in a not so discreet manner. "Are you in any way related to a man named Arthur?"

"There are oh so many men named Arthur, _ma petite_. The relevance of your question is just… irrelevant."

"Don't play smart with me, Mr. Bonnefoy." She made sure she pronounced the name with distaste. This man was up to no good. "For the past twenty years only one man has been visiting that boy and his name is Arthur. If you truly are here to see him, then you must know him in some kind of form or another."

"How do you even know his name?" The male nurse asked as he turned towards his wife accusingly. So much for not interfering personally with the patients. "There hasn't been a security camera in this facility that has been able to capture a mere glimpse, and yet you know his name! What else have you found out, Elizaveta? What information have you been holding out on me?"

"You are the most dramatic thing in existence! Perhaps if you watched television more often, or paid attention to the bus signs, you'd know that that man is a global idol." Silence stretched out then. Bonnefoy looked amused.

"O-Oh. Then why all the mysterious sneakiness? Afraid deranged fanatics would follow him here?" Roderich asked uneasily, earning himself a glare from his wife.

"You are also threading on dangerous waters. You lied to me. Said that Alfred's files said a bunch of crap that wasn't even there! The entire thing is blank except for the name!"

"It isn't your business to have your nose stuck in those files!"

"I'm his nurse; hence I have the right to know!"

"Is it not against the rules to disclose personal information about the Students of this institution?" Bonnefoy chirped in amusedly, his voice trailing down their spines like expensive silk… luxurious and seductive. They would have blamed it on the accent, but there was something more there. Something that made them both take a cautious step back. He was right though. They had just told a stranger all there was to know about little orphan Alfred. "Is this Arthur… _English_, by any chance?"

"No."

"You lie, ma petite. If it is the same Arthur I know of, the gothic prince that's bewitched the world with his looks and dark music… then he is _very_ English." The Frenchman's eyes flashed when he spoke, making shadows dance behind baby blue hues.

Elizaveta walked behind the desk and drew something, effectively not wanting for the stranger to see in need if something came down. He didn't notice apparently; thank Heavens for that, _or he could have just pretended not to notice…_ It was a fact that something shady lurked behind the truth of Alfred's background, but what she was seeing was making her fear for dear life. "Then why ask?"

"I simply wanted to know your response. Since you've lied to me, then I cannot trust you. Since I cannot trust you, then I have no need for you. Or your husband." Bonnefoy rose to his feet and nearly glided towards them with the grace of a cat, but nowhere near as visible.

Both nurses were ready to make for the door, but the man made sure to get it before they even made their break. He was smiling now, a dark little grin that flashed canines as sharp and lethal as a cat's, but much worse. _So much worse_. They were trapped in a small office with no escape and an advancing… whatever the hell he was. Fear began to settle in, but before it pushed them towards rash actions in order to survive, Bonnefoy took hold of their eyes; and with that, the doors to their minds. He couldn't risk a riot now, not when he had finally found what he had been searching for for almost two decades. He could almost taste the fulfilled vengeance on his tongue… But once he had the boy, he knew he would taste much sweeter.

"I want you two to be a good pair of pets and remain in this office until I am long gone; understood?"

"Yes, master." They answered in unison. The man shivered in satisfaction. Vengeance and blood might have been sweet, but there were other things just as delectable. Power, was one of them and he had no problem in flaunting it.

"Excellent. Now, I am off to suck the little critter dry. _Au revoir_!"

Hollow eyes stared blankly at the Frenchman that exited the office and into the hallway. An elevator ride and two more halls later, and Bonnefoy had reached the grand entrance of his final destination. There was so much white it almost hurt his delicate eyes. Dress shoes were unnaturally silent against the polished floors, as if he was gliding on top of the floor instead of walking on it. Anyone who would have witnessed it would have thought it unnerving; nothing moved the way he did. Pure grace and elegance; it was inhumane.

A voice as rich and thick as chocolate swirled through the air around the man as he sung in his native tongue, the French accent heavy, lulling any of the patients still awake into blissful sleep as easy as snuffing off a candle's flame. Oh he would have loved a crowd, but not tonight. He wanted things done quick and easy, not his style, but it would have to do.

Long fingers were outstretched in a way that his fingertips slid across the locked doors of the rooms. As he went, he could hear a whimper every here and there, some out of fear, others out of something else entirely. _How naughty_. But he was exuding his power in a way that it was almost sexual; some feared it, other's welcomed it. He did no effort in trying to conceal it. Let them know _what_ he was, _who_ he was, and what he had come here for. Being such a long way from home, he expected a warm welcoming. Reaching little Alfred and killing him in the slowest way possible wasn't exactly top priority, being part of the Council gave him much more important tasks to tend to. In fact, it wasn't even important on a personal note. It was a hunt he was hosting just for the fun of it; revenge could have waited, but he was in a mood for it, so there he was.

It took him a while, but once he reached the room, he lingered. The visitor took a deep and long intake of breath, tasting the air around him and liking it. Even the boy's smell was better than any puny mortal he had encountered. Perhaps it was true; Arthur's ward was something more than just a child taken away from the war. Bonnefoy was ecstatic.

Out of sheer politeness, he knocked. "Alfred, my boy?" No answer came, and he wasn't really expecting one. Apparently the boy wasn't half as stupid as he had expected him to be. All the better. Nothing like a bit of struggling to turn him on. "I hope you do not mind my visiting so suddenly; I am simply dying to see you. Your nurse informed me that it would be all right for me to step inside; if it is all right with you?" Still, no answer.

Golden locks were swept away from his blue eyes in annoyance. Fine then. If the boy wanted to be rude, then Heaven help him, he'd be rude too. He _was_ French, after all. Time was precious, and he wouldn't waste it playing coy with some frail creature, he had other pressing appointments. Pressing his palm against the lock, the door made a creaking noise, and just like that, it unlocked. Some security they had.

"_Bonsoir, mon petite lapin_—" He stopped in mid sentence. That was a bit unexpected, not to mention annoying.

The room was empty.

The scent still clung to the bed sheets, to the walls and a straightjacket strewn over the floor. Vanilla and cinnamon, how unnatural. But also… _tea_. That last one confused him. He doubted the institution would go as far as to give tea to their patients; too expensive. Stepping into the room, he sniffed about as graceful as possible and caught something else. _Was that… oh yes_, he was sure of it. The distinct smell of sex lingered faintly in the cool air. Not as if the act had been done in the actual room, but as if it had clung to a previous guest.

A wicked grin slid across his features. There was only one man he knew that could smell such a way and not make it seem debauched. He should have been mad, but the discovery only made him laugh in pure joy. Draining the boy had been bumped all the way up to top priority. This unexpected turn of events confirmed what he had dismissed years ago.

Arthur heeded his indirect warning and came to rescue the boy, which could only mean one thing. _He was indeed the Child of Promise._ The Princess' only son who had mysteriously died at birth. The direct descendant of Queen Ann herself. The one who was born to destroy his kind. It was a lot of pomp and ceremony for a little human with no supernatural power whatsoever, but to hell with it. The linage was cursed; hence why he was smuggled out of the country. England had been indebted to France for the past two-hundred years and it was finally time for the debt to be paid. As Master of his clan, Bonnefoy would see to it personally.

His life just got a hell of a lot more interesting.

It was a race against time. Arthur swore loudly as he waltzed on by the main entrance unnoticed, with a little help from the inside forces. Not that he needed any, a bit more aura and he could have obscured himself from prying human eyes, but that would be a significant waste of energy. Especially at that very moment when he didn't even know what was going on within the institution walls. That insufferable monster was there, he could practically taste the choking smell of roses. He had warned that lady, the nurse with eyes like his, but they were now on their own. Any stupid human could sense danger, even if they didn't have a drop of aura in them. If push came to shove, he hoped them to be smart enough to run.

Now, back to what he had come for. Sauntering up the short flight of stairs, he slipped in through the main lobby, taking in the immaculate beige walls, all clustered tastefully with renown paintings from Monet to Van Gogh. Plastic plants stood in the corners, killing off the deceptively nice atmosphere in the wide reception area. The desk was empty, a mug of coffee left abandoned on the glossy surface. Answer machine blinking, clipboard and pen splayed as if someone had left in a hurry. Having been a human that would be about the time when hairs stood on end. When the paranoia of being watched by unknown eyes lurking in the darkest of corners begins to set it. Something eerie was about, and who was he to deny it. Call it a sixth sense, or just the knowledge that a certain demon was about.

His black coat billowed behind him as he made his way up to the rooms, not hurrying mentally, but his feet move on their own. A strange level of physics, magic, hiding behind his movement. Any human could have been fooled or not understood how he was doing such a thing; heck, even he couldn't explain it. It was something that came naturally to him. Like breathing, for instance. Involuntary at the best.

Now, long coats weren't his favorite when it came to casual wear. Beneath the dreaded thing he usually wore on a stage, was nothing but kaki colored trousers, a long sleeved button-down and a sweater vest. Paparazzi would have thought it outrages, Gilbert also, but he preferred a more comfortable and classy wardrobe when it came to his private time. He would have gone for a normal jacket, but all he had at his disposal was that long thing. And it was too cold to go out dressed so scantily. Even for a vampire.

Lights surging above him, he stopped for a brief moment before really quickening his stride. He was there, and he was playing mind tricks. Not angry, since Bonnefoy barely flipped his lid over anything, just say it as a game. Sleek shoes were soundless against the polished floors as he practically ran now, at human speed, down the silent halls. Arthur couldn't remember the number he was looking for, not having paid attention at the time during his enrollment. Which he now regretted.

The boy was becoming too much of a handful already.

A deep breath later and Arthur was honing in on his ability to scent things out. It would have been easier had he known what specific smell he needed to pinpoint, but he had to make do with what his memory dictated. Memories of almost two decades ago, one of the little ball of sunshine he had despised since day one, the other of that one woman who had placed it in his charge. It was hard to a brutal extent. With emerald eyes shut, he drew out his hand, skimming his fingertips across the cold metal of the doors.

What he found, though, had shocked him beyond words.

Arthur found him. Found the little lad who he had come to rescue, but he didn't sniff him down like some sort of hound. He sensed him. Sensed his aura as if he had come to hunt. A bright spot among the hundreds of student there. Human, yes, but abnormal. As a supernatural being, Arthur could read people's aura's by colours, sometimes those colors varied when his sense of smell was added into the equation. But this was different. Where every single aura in that floor shinned a pale kind of beige, this one, was a raging blue. A blue so unnerving, that it made the blonde think twice before proceeding. Where his aura was a pitch black, the boy's was only a few shades away.

Standing before the door with the numbers 07041776 engraved into them, Arthur placed his hand fully on it. He heard a whimper. So the boy knew. Not a lot of humans knew of his presence until after half their lifeblood was half way gone. It just went to show the extent of that one boy's abilities; whichever those were. After a moment's hesitation, he pushed the door slowly open, trying to look as less menacing as possible. First impressions and all. Had to mind those; being the gentleman he, rarely, was nowadays.

Alfred looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

Impossibly large eyes shone a vibrant blue; fear, excitement and innocence all mixed into one single unexplainable emotion. Arthur's eyes, in turn, bugged out. That wasn't what he was expecting; that wasn't _who_ he was expecting to see. The immortal expected a short, scrawny little thing with a horrible case of nerves, trembling on the spot. But the boy, _the young man_, standing before him was none of the above. A bit more meat on his bones would do him wonders, but he was tall, well built. Broad shoulders. Milky white skin, but not the kind that would burn red when exposed to the sunrays, more like the type of skin that would bronze beautifully. There was also a light dusting of freckles across his cheeks, invisible to the human eye. Pronounced cheekbones, full lips that looked downright edible, large hands, ridiculously proper posture… The boy had grown into something that could be so easily as desirable; it was almost a sin to have him locked away from the world.

The young man gazed back at him; his breath leaving him in the most painful manner as he gazed unabashedly. Without a doubt, that was the being he had seen walking so powerfully on stage, the stuff of nightmares. However, he might have frightened him during that one time, but now that he had him face to face… well… he wasn't intimidating in the slightest. Of course, he was still terrified of being at the mercy of a complete stranger, with so many questions unanswered and mysteries still shrouded in darkness. But wonder, was perhaps the strongest emotion at that very moment, that very instant when the light of the hall seeped into his dark room, revealing the savior of his dreams.

Truth be told, he wasn't very good looking. His eyebrows looked like they would swallow half his face, even if they were trimmed. But on a stranger side, it brought out the mesmerizing green of his eyes. His nurse has a similar color, that forest green so deep it was easy to get lost in them… but his were different. His were darker, enticing; it made strange feelings knot in his stomach, and he didn't like it. He was smaller than on television, skinny, and the coat looked too big on him. All that and still, Alfred didn't care. The man standing in the entry way was the most beautiful thing he'd seen. The only thing he'd seen from the outside world, and he couldn't stop staring.

Clearing his throat, Arthur cocked his head to the side, a frown in his features. Not that he'd normally smile anyways, but he was confused. He didn't want to come off as menacing, but with the tension in the building, and the uncertainty of what stood before him, well, he wasn't feeling too ecstatic. The boy could ensure him a feast though, and not only of the crimson kind. "Good evening, Alfred."

Whatever air was left in his lungs, died out. A voice so rich it was almost like… like… something really soft, Alfred thought, not having experienced much luxury during his short life to actually come up with a proper comparison. Just like that, he felt at ease. It was the most unnatural thing, but it was there. That didn't mean the fear was gone, it would always be there, in the back of his mind. Instinct or survival skill, he didn't know. "Good evening." The younger blonde replied barely above a whisper, but Arthur caught it clearly. Exceptionally shy, it seemed most unfitting.

"I am Arthur; I've been your legal guardian for these past seventeen years. Give or take. It's a pleasure to finally see you, dear Alfred."

If ever there need be an example, during Sundays Bible Study, on what Heaven would sound like, Arthur's voice would be the very best example on this earth. Having his name heard from another voice, other than Elizaveta's was the first gift of many to come. There was a world outside those four walls, and his door to it was right there. Not the kindest and warmest of greetings, but contact all the same. Alfred smiled at him, a grin that could nearly blind yet manage to be coy. It was simply amazing just how complex that young man was. "Pleasure to meet you."

Arthur smiled then, his eyes softening then. "You look so much like your mother." The younger snapped their head up, all insecurities gone as he daringly took a step towards the door, momentarily forgetting himself at the mention of his mother. He knew. That man held all the answers he needed. That man was now his world. Arthur looked down at the threshold and scolded it. "May I come in?"

"Y-Yes…. Of course…." Maybe the boy didn't know after all, or was just too naïve and trusting. Arthur stepped inside and took a breath, his mouth watering involuntarily. He was frightened, but the curiosity was nearly endearing.

After a few more minutes of taking in the supple form before him, the newcomer sighed pleasantly. His eyebrows melted back into place, making him look much more pleasant than before until he began to speak, treading along hollow shard of glass, choosing his words carefully. His Glamour might be able to dazzle the young man enough to make him heed his word, but he needed the boy to trust him above all else. An unfair deal, but those were the cards set on the table. Arthur needed to win him over with his words. It might seem as an easy gamble, but the stakes were high. "I really do not wish to simply barge into your life, lad. I understand if you've… created a sort of… fortress within these walls. Protecting yourself from the evils in the outside world." The visible flinch at the word evil made Arthur regret using such a strong word.

He walked deeper into the room, walking around the slightly taller frame, admiring him from up close. Like a hawk circling, closing in on dinner. Alfred seemed to close himself off, nearly shrinking in place; making Arthur frown. "I'm a very busy man… Hence why I rarely had the time to properly have a chat with you. I do hope you forgive me?"

Alfred seemed about to nod, but he suddenly voted against it. He didn't know what to say, what to do… So he simply stood there. Still in turmoil. It was rather adorable when he began to shyly play with the hem of his shirt as if thinking, if he ignored it long enough, it would all go away. It didn't. It sadly did not work that way.

"I understand that I won't be able to offer you much, now that you've grown into a handsome young man. But I can grant you a proper education. Science, mathematics, history… You'd be able to enjoy proper meals prepared by yours truly." Blue eyes lit up at that; so did Arthur's. No more of that disgusting mush they were served for breakfast, but actual solid food. "Sounds splendid, doesn't it?"

It did. More than any of them could fully understand. But Alfred still refused to react. He was offering him a way out, a home outside those walls, but that meant running off with a complete stranger. It didn't matter how many times he had come to visit, this was the first time he had ever seen him to face. Heard his voice and experienced his scent. Tea, vanilla… and something else he couldn't really name.

Turning towards the stranger that called himself his guardian, Alfred took a tentative step. The other blonde stood stock still, like he wasn't even breathing. Overly delicate fingertips pressed onto Arthur's cheek, warn against his cold skin, soothing. It was something that took them both by surprise, and they both released a sigh for entirely different reasons. Wonder and irritation. The latter being completely covered underneath deceptively honest green eyes. "When am I…? Should we…? H-How…?"

Frowning, Arthur turned away from the innocent touch. "That doesn't suit you." He ignored the question in Alfred's eyes before continuing. "Right now." The following gasp was what made Arthur face him again, looking him dead in the eye. He didn't want to bewitch him, not if it wasn't necessary. But if the boy proved to be more of a hassle than expected, then so be it. The hairs on the back of his neck were beginning to stand on end, the ground beneath his feet was vibrating, and once he looked up at Alfred, he saw fear. Not fear of the offer, but fear of what else was in the building. Another presence, a hostile one, completely different from the pleasant buzz Arthur released around him. He did know. Arthur wanted to know too; exactly what was working behind that illiterate mind.

"A-All right." It was but a whisper as he extended his hand to the newcomer.

Smoldering emerald eyes looked down at the offering and hesitated. He didn't tolerate weakness, and that would have been an ample example of it. But he was still a child, one that would be forced to grow up if he were to stay with him. The boy was trembling.

Arthur was genuinely startled when a loud bang brought him to his senses, as if something had come into hard contact with metal, denting it in the process. Having the ability, he would have venture his senses to see what had happened, but that wouldn't prove wise. This was not a moment for confrontation; even if he wanted to rip that frog to shreds for invading his territory, but he had more important business at hand. A wail soon followed; a young girl shrieking… putting a chill to his bones. They needed to get out.

Taking Alfred's hand, he noticed the boy unfazed. The fear had not grown, it had not overpowered. He was still trembling, but he was not cowering. "There's a good lad. Come along." Not even the clichéd question of trust was offered, they simply fled.

Contrary to the casual saunter Arthur had come in with, he was now running. At human speeds, but still running. The grip tightened as he hauled Alfred with him, willing him not to stop for a breath. Two flights of stairs later, and the boy had started to lag. Out of breath, his chest heaving, he pulled on Arthur's hand. He could barely breathe or see; he didn't want to trip over his feet and send them both hurling down the stairs. "Wait."

"We _can't_ wait. Just a bit longer; we're almost outside."

"I can't… breathe."

"Bullocks." The lights surged. "Shit; _Alfred_." The name came as a warning, and with a nearly choked sob, the blonde boy nodded. They dashed down the next flight of stair, until they came face to face with a steel bolted door. It opened on its own accord, to Alfred's bewilderment, but he had a hunch Arthur had something to do with it. Humidity smacked into them, making the lad nearly choke again when the mixture of fumes and smells belonging to the outside world made themselves acquainted with his nostrils. But that didn't stop them. At least, not Arthur. Continuing his fast pace, he was rudely brought to a halt when the sweaty palm slipped out of his hand, making him instantly skid to a stop in the most ungraceful manner. "What in the…"

"Hello there, _Angleterre_. It's been _too_ long."

The shiver that danced in Arthur's stomach made him feel sick as he gazed on. "Let him go." His voice was smooth, pliant, but strong. He'd give no quarter; not when his property was being held by the enemy. And at that moment, having those slender arms wrapped so securely across the boy's waist sickened him. "You are too out of your league here."

"Oh_, non, non_. I see you headed my warning. Came running for the boy. How endearing." The Frenchman pulled the lithe body closer, digging his nose into the short unruly hair. "I'll be glad to take him of your hands; allow you the liberty to frolic among these apes."

"If you want to get technical, so are you." Arthur was surprised at Alfred's comeback. Frances could only laugh at that. A laugh that put a sinful pressure across one's body, like velvet… and warm chocolate.

"Feisty, aren't we? _Ma petite_? How exciting."

"They won't be happy if you harm to boy."

"Who says I want to harm him? I'm sure you could handle my magnificent prowess?" Francis whispered that last part into the Alfred's ear, his hand wandering across his belly suggestively. His actions were cut short, however, when a fist connected with his nose with a sickening crack. After a string of foreign curses, he looked up to see the boy clinging to Arthur's chest. "Still refusing to use your powers, I see. When will you ever learn, Arthur?"

"Simply demonstrating my magnificent prowess." The Briton spat out, turning away to better shield the human latched onto his chest. "I'm granting you the chance to live, just this once. I came for the boy; not to challenge you again."

"You never change, _mon cher_. Still driven by that silly law of Pride and Honest among fellow Ambassadors. How naïve." With a flourish, he turned on his heels, walking back towards the School exit. "However, I didn't come to confront you, I must be honest. I am not quite ready. Now I know that I need be the next time we meet_. Au revoir_." Even while speaking his farewell, he turned back to them and bowed low. "Have you wondered why he is able to touch you, Angleterre?" And with that, he was gone. He didn't walk away; didn't disappear into a clichéd puff of smoke… He had just vanished.

Arthur didn't waste a minute. "We must go before the others arrive."


End file.
